


Doubt (Klance)

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Comfort/Angst, M/M, and hunk and shiro are mentioned, it's kind of light angst though?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 12:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11417667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Shiro goes missing after their battle with Zarkon, Keith is overwhelmed with misery and doubt, and not for the first time in his life. Lance becomes concerned and seeks to comfort the newly appointed Black Paladin, at first with disastrous results.





	Doubt (Klance)

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea that Lance and Keith 'patched things up' (aka they realised their feelings and became 'a thing', if you get what I mean), shortly before their battle with Zarkon at the end of Season 2. I thought it would be interesting to write a take on how Keith might react under those circumstances, so... I wrote this

“Keith, perhaps you should take a break?” Allura suggests, her hands clasped uneasily in front of her. Keith’s shoulders heave as he downs the gladiator for the sixth time now, then readies himself for another round.

He glances back at her as she stands in the door way, but says nothing. She looks just as fatigued and in as much anguish as he is. A tiny, tired voice in his head whispers,  _you should listen to her_ , but he pushes the thought away and turns back to the training platform.

His fingers curl tighter around his Bayard, his brows knitted together in frustration. “Restart training sequence.”

Allura’s shoulders slump forward, as though she has been defeated, but she doesn’t leave just yet. Keith hopes that, if he continues to ignore her, she will.

As he and the droid dance around the room, movements practiced and fluid, his gaze flickers back to the door at the sound of voices. Allura had left, and Keith isn’t sure if he is relieved or not that Lance had taken her place. The two paladins lock eyes for a moment too long, because the next thing Keith knows, he is on the ground with the droid towering over him.

He panics and scrambles for the Bayard that had been knocked from his hand, but his route is immediately blocked by the droid. He barely manages to move out of the way of the next strike, his arms and legs like jelly, and forces himself to keep going.

When he finally manages to retrieve the Bayard and moves to block the next attack, the droid suddenly powers down, the light on its head fading with a whirr.

Confusion and exhaustion swirls within him and his head spins. Dazed, he stares at the droid as he drops the Bayard and slowly falls back down, a hand spread flat on the ground behind him to keep him upright. His heart hammers in his chest, and his stomach twists almost violently, as his body threatens to bring up what little he had eaten earlier.

When Lance is suddenly crouched beside him, he registers that the Blue Paladin—no, the  _Red_ Paladin—had suspended the training sequence. He’s talking, but the noise in Keith’s ears is just so  _loud_  that it overpowers his voice, which only makes him feel even more lightheaded.

He quickly recognises the warmth on his arm is Lance’s hand, and shakes it off stubbornly, rising to his feet and collecting his Bayard again. Lance is still talking, protesting his movements, but Keith didn’t dare stop heading for the exit. If he did, the way the world was blurred at the edges might become tears, and he refused to cry—not in front of the other Paladins, and  _especially_  not in front of Lance.

If he was going to be the Black Paladin, the leader of Voltron, he was going to be the best Black Paladin the universe had ever seen—and a training droid wasn’t going to take him down.

It takes him a second to realise that what he wants is impossible. No one can compare to Shiro. Intelligent, compassionate and confident—all the things a leader  _should_ be; all the things that Keith  _isn’t_. Keith is confident, sure, and he can think on his feet—but he is also hot-headed, temperamental, and confrontational to the point that he could do more harm than good.

Lance, sensing that his words are in vain, reaches out and catches his arm in a futile attempt to stop him.

Keith grits his teeth as he spins around to face him, jerking out of his grasp. The room is on a tilt again, and he wonders how he's managing to stay upright at all. "Knock it off! I don’t need your comfort, Lance!”

The quiver in Keith’s bottom lip and the way his hands tremble sends a chill through Lance’s body. Tears were beginning to form around the rims of his eyes, and he was uncharacteristically pale. He’d only ever seen him like this once before, right after Shiro had disappeared, though he hadn’t had the opportunity to offer comfort then. Every fibre of Lance’s being wanted to hug him, assure him everything would work out, but he was frozen in his place at the way he snapped.

So, instead, he stares, jaw slack. After a few seconds, Keith runs a tense hand through his tussled, sweaty hair, then starts to leave again.

When he realises he’s staring at Keith’s back now, Lance’s senses finally kick in again. “Keith? I… Wait—Keith!” He hurries to block his path, but the Paladin merely brushes past him, his pace quickening as he heads towards the door.

When he speaks, he sounds like he’s already crying. “Forget it.”

* * *

Keith balls his hands in to fists as he rolls on to his other side, growing more tense with every passing second.

His feet had carried him subconsciously from the training deck, and he hadn’t realised he was going to his room until he was standing in front of the door. He showered, put on clean clothes, then buried himself beneath the covers of his bed in a frustrated manner.

He knew full well there was no way he was going to sleep in this state.

He didn’t mean to yell at Lance. He never means to yell at  _anyone_ —not unless they truly deserve it, let alone Lance. He knew all he wanted to do was help, to comfort. His chest tightens in a way that is slowly becoming less foreign, as he remembers the way Lance’s mouth had twisted in to a frown, how his brow had been knotted with concern while he watched Keith trained. How that knot had turned in to a quirk, and the frown turned in to a pout, the same way it would whenever he doubted himself.

A pang suddenly shoots through his stomach. When was the last time he ate? Groaning, he sluggishly crawls out of the bed and makes his way out of his room.

* * *

Lance sprawls out on his bed, staring at the ceiling of the alcove. He shouldn’t have let Keith go. He should have followed him, or tried to calm him down, or… something. Anything. He knows he only snapped because of how much he misses Shiro; he was his brother in all but blood. When Keith hadn’t thrown himself in to intense training sessions immediately after Shiro disappeared, he thought they had dodged a bullet. However, it was only a matter of time before Lance caught him on the training deck with the safeguard turned off.

A knock on the door disrupts his thoughts. He turns his head towards the sound, but doesn’t move to open it.

It slides open before he has a chance to say anything, anyway, revealing Keith. His hair is damp—a dark, messy mop on his head that hangs over his eyes. His brow is furrowed, as though he is troubled by something, and he’s chewing on his lip.

Lance sits up in the middle of the bed and crosses his legs. He motions for Keith to sit beside him, which is when he notices the cup in his hand.

“Hunk said it tastes like vanilla,” Keith says suddenly, gauchely, offering the drink as he settles next to him.

Lance takes it, conscious of the awkward tension lingering around them, and holds it up to his mouth. He smells the contents, before making a curious noise and taking a sip. It’s hot, but Hunk was right: it  _does_  taste like vanilla.

Keith starts chewing on his lip again, searching for the right thing to say. He hadn’t planned on coming here. He went to the kitchen for something to eat, but Hunk was there. The yellow paladin probed Keith to find out the source of his broodiness, and suggested taking the warm beverage to Lance—it was his favourite back on Earth, apparently.

Besides, he couldn’t leave it like this. Not after they’d patched things up between them and dropped their stupid 'rivalry'. Warmth ghosts Keith’s lips as he remembers how (unsurprisingly) soft Lance’s had been. As he forces himself to not lift his hand and trace the false warmth lingering on his lips, he realises the uncomfortable silence that had built up between them and clears his throat to speak.

“Lance, I…” he starts, a red flush rising to his cheeks. He never was very good at opening up to people. Yet another value that was found in terrible leaders. “I’m… sorry. For yelling at you, I mean.”

Lance looks at him, then notices Keith is purposefully not looking at him. He looks down at the syrupy liquid in the cup, watching as it swirls while he moves the cup in a circular motion. “You’re tired, and you’re worried about Shiro. It’s okay. I get it.”

He scrunches his nose up.  _You’re too forgiving, Lance_. “It’s… it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have snapped at you when you tried to help me. It’s not very ‘leader-like’ of me.” After a moment, he scoffs, falling on to his back. He rakes his fingers through his hair in frustration, then rubs his face, before throwing his arms out to his sides and staring at the ceiling, much like Lance had been moments ago. “Who am I kidding? It’s not very  _friend-like_ , either.”

Lance reaches over him to put the cup on the dresser next to the bed, then lies down beside him, conscious of the arm beneath him. As though it had become second-nature, Keith wraps the arm around the Cuban boy's waist, then rests his head on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to be like Shiro to be a good leader, you know?” Lance suddenly says, after a long moment filled only with the sound of their breathing, as though he knows exactly what Keith's thinking. “You have your own qualities.”

_You’re too kind, Lance_. A discontented breath escapes his mouth. “None that are good for leading a giant robot. I’m a hot-head, you said it yourself.  _"Shoot first, ask questions later",_  right?”

Lance purses his lips as he thinks. “You're clever. Smart. And you're good in combat.  _God_ , Keith, you're the best pilot in the entire universe. So what if you have a temper? Your other qualities outweigh that.”

The corners of Keith's mouth turned upwards ever so slightly, but then he frowns. "I saw the look on your face when I left. I had no right to make you feel like that, not when you were just trying to help." Then his lip quivers again. Lance notices, and tries to change the topic.

"Thanks for that, by the way." He nods his head towards the cup on the dresser. "What is it? It's delicious."

He shrugs, as best he can while lying down. “Hunk said it was vanilla flavoured, though it isn't coffee.”

"Whatever it is, it's  _delicious_."

Lance, who always seemed to know what to say, was at a loss for words whenever he was with this boy. He feels the way the muscles in Keith's jaw tense against his shoulder, as though he is holding back tears. In an attempt of comfort, he starts running a hand through Keith's still damp hair, which had started to create a patch on Lance's shirt (though he didn’t mind much).

His voice is soft when he speaks. “I don’t want to be the leader, Lance.”

Lance listens to the sound of their mismatched breathing for a moment, continuing to absently detangle the other paladin’s hair. Keith found it calming, the constant physical contact. Lance found it nostalgic; back on Earth, he would play with his younger siblings’ hair to lull them in to a sleep. It was a win-win situation. “I know.”

Keith sniffles, and a sob catches in his throat before he speaks again, curling his other arm around Lance’s middle. He tucks his face in the crook between his neck and shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut as tears started to fall. “I just want Shiro back.”

“We’ll find him, Keith.” Lance envelopes the now snivelling paladin firmly in his arms, rubbing his hand in soothing motions down his back.

It doesn’t take long for Keith to calm down enough to drift in to an uneasy sleep, Lance’s arms a constant reassurance that he was safe, that they would find Shiro. He realises that, with Lance and the rest of the team at his side, maybe he _can_ lead Voltron.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic I've ever posted (and the first time i've written voltron; that's why the characterisation is probably very off), so i'm a little nervous about posting it but i'm open to criticism!


End file.
